


The Provenance of the Heart

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-08
Updated: 2008-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-14 13:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13591323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: The history of the simplest objects can be astoundingly enlightening.





	The Provenance of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A recent acquisition may appear to have made me obsessed, but in actual fact, it just got me to thinking. Plus, we're coming up on V-Day again, so…
> 
> I wrote this in about 3 hours last night with barely any editing. It's nice when something comes together that smoothly.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, _ad infinitum_.

The room is dark except for the flickering amber light of a pillar candle on the bedside table. She's drifted off to sleep, and he is content to watch her lying there in repose, the subtle candlelight casting dusky shapes over her creamy skin, causing strands of her golden hair to shimmer.  Nestled there in the hollow of her throat is a tangle of silver, the sinuous heart amidst the light-weave chain, and as she breathes in deeply the highlights and shadows on the metallic surface grow stark for a moment until she exhales again. The soft, sensual, classic shape of the heart, he realises, echoes everything he likes about her, and a lazy smile finds its way to his face.

He wonders if she knows.

She opens her eyes, immediately smirking, saying in a teasing, sleep-scratchy voice, "Turnabout's fair play, I guess, hm?"

His expression doesn't change, and he doesn't reply.

She knits her brows. "Penny for your thoughts?" she asks, raising up off the pillow enough that the heart falls until the chain catches it, then she settles down again.

He raises his fingers to trace the outline of the heart pendant where it now lays, then take it between his thumb and first two fingers. It's surprisingly weighty for such an airy-looking object. "Tell me how you got this."

She looks a little perplexed. "How I got it? It was a present."

"When?"

She smirks again. "There's no need to get jealous or anything. I got it years ago, for my sweet sixteen… which was longer ago than I care to think about."

He drops the pendant, raises his hand to stroke her face tenderly, looks to her thoughtfully. "Almost twenty years ago," he says in a quiet voice.

"Mark," she says archly. "No need to remind me of that."

"Age twenty seems a very long time ago," he says in that same pensive voice, as if she hasn't spoken at all, but he kisses the tip of her nose as a sort of apology. "I was at Cambridge."

"Thirty seemed like an eternity away," she says morosely.

"Somewhat closer to London than my mother at the time."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for the rest of the story.

He continues in a rather nostalgic vein, "She would frequently ask me to run errands for her while in the city, pick up things for her then send them by post, or bring them with me if I came to visit."

She muses, "I'm presuming there's a point here."

He fights a grin. "Forgive me. Drudging up memories that old takes some effort."

She reaches out and lightly smacks his shoulder.

He starts speaking again. "So in the autumn of my twentieth year, I was so charged once again, and my mother strongly implied I had a loftier budget than in the past as this was to commemorate a milestone event of sorts for a godchild." He runs his fingers along her bare arm, back up to her shoulder. "There was a pointed suggestion of which store to visit and hints to what might be most suitable, but the actual choice of gift was left up to me. I knew (thanks to calling upon the very periphery of my memory) for whom it was intended, so I found something I thought wholly suitable and within budget. I was very proud of my find and my mother was too."

Her eyes are bright with the suspense. "So what was it? Who was it for? Did they like it?"

He doesn't say anything at first, just allows his fingers to trail along her collarbone until they reach the chain again, then travel back to the pendant. "As she still wears it to this day, I should think so," he says softly.

He can recognise the exact moment when it all clicks into place; her brows pull together, her eyes go wide with disbelief, her mouth gapes ever so slightly open. "You're teasing—" she starts to say, then stops, bringing her hand to her mouth, before speaking again in a much rawer voice. Her hand drops to cover his. "Oh my God. It _was_ from your mother."

He nods.

"You're _not_ teasing me," she concludes.

He shakes his head. "Not."

Her eyes suddenly glisten, and she squeezes his hand.

"It's not even something I remembered I'd done until fairly recently," he says. "So many errands, so many gifts over the years… but when I saw you at the book launch, saw you wearing it, the whole thing came back to me like a bolt from the blue."

"The book launch?" She looks intently into his eyes. "That was months ago, Mark… why didn't you say so before?"

"I had every intention of speaking to you that night, to offer an olive branch, but then you… _left_." He doesn't need to say anything more. "And after that night I didn't think you much liked me, so…"

She laughs unexpectedly, then pushes herself up to surprise him with a quick kiss. "I certainly _do_ like you," she says, her blue eyes glittering, "with all my heart."

As she brushes her lips lightly against his again, his eyes close, and he can't stop himself from dominating her mouth with his own. He's thankful that the candle is slow-burning and rather large, because he doesn't have to worry about it melting through and setting fire to the nightstand, the bed, the room; honestly, he's not sure he'd notice. He takes his time, reiterating without words that he very much likes her too.

Afterwards, she's resting on his chest, nestled within the crook of his arm. He can feel the pendant between them, against his own skin. She slides her hand around his waist and sighs, "I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"Mmm-hmm. Glad that you ended up being the one that picked it out for me. Makes it all the more special."

He reaches down and plants a kiss in her hair.

"And glad to know you've got excellent taste in jewelry," she adds drowsily.

He doesn't think she means it as a hint, but it sets him to thinking, and he smiles.

_The end._

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: Bridget's necklace is [this one](http://www.tiffany.com/jewelry/necklaces-pendants/elsa-peretti-open-heart-pendant-10660084?Sku=10660084). After much digging and research, if you're going to go for one of these, get the 22mm heart, and have them add 4" to the chain. Ask me how I know!


End file.
